


The Ultimate Unauthorized Hellhound

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Gauda Prime, Alternate Universe, Angsty Schmoop, Crack Treated Seriously, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick and in despair, Avon fights the horrible memories of Gauda Prime. He is even more confused when he discovers that everything he thought he knew was a lie.</p><p>It's a good lie, though, and if it's a dream, it's one he wants to cling to with both hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ultimate Unauthorized Hellhound

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, long long ago there was a series of increasingly bleak B7 stories in zines where the authors had plotted out a huge time-line (and printed the time line with their fic, so you knew it was coming) in which, at the end, Avon and Blake and pretty much everyone else were destined to go out in a blaze of glory. As the years rolled on, and there were no more stories added, the urge to save everyone grew, and finally I capitulated and wrote this which really doesn't take place in the Hellhound 'verse or have any effect on those stories. Except it made me feel better to save them in a silly way.
> 
> If the real Hellhound ever gets on line, there are sort of spoilers for it in here. Very little spoilers, mostly to do with characters' appearance.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Avon fell, blood masking his snarling face, as he raged against the bitterness of the final defeat. Blake lay, like some fallen God-statue, scattered Federation troopers sacrificial offerings heaped about him. "NO!" Avon screamed, and cursed his shattered legs as he crawled to Blake, and collapsed beside the one man he could have loved. Did love, although Blake could never know, never love him back. Blake was not quite dead, despite the gaping wounds, but the moment was fast approaching. Blake blinked, smiled weakly, and gave Avon's hand one last, comradely squeeze. Then Blake's great heart stopped, and Avon died, too.

"No, no, no, no, no." Avon woke, weeping through close-clenched eyes. He was weak, sore and aching in every fiber of his being, but he wasn't dead. He was dizzy, and disoriented, but he remembered quite clearly what had happened. Blake was dead. They were all dead. Hands soothed him, and liquid was forced down his throat, and he hadn't the strength to fight. The Federation had won, and he hadn't even the good fortune to die with his friends.

He had fought so hard, and so long, and all for Blake. He'd hidden his desire, his love, rather than chance disgusting Blake and losing even the paltry satisfaction of friendship. Now it was all gone, and he'd never even found the courage to tell Blake. "Let me die," he whispered, begging. The blood rushed in his ears and his mind buzzed so that he could not hear the reply, but as the hands continued to sponge the sweat off his body, he knew his only wish would not be granted. They would make him live, and use him, strip his brain bare and eventually discard his carcass- unless they turned him into a mutoid, and sent his animated corpse against Blake's rebels. He gagged at the thought. A cold metal basin was placed neatly under his chin, and more strong, unyielding hands held him while he retched.

He was laid back in the damp, narrow cot while the voices pulled aside for a discussion. He plucked weakly at the sodden covers, and tried to open his eyes. It was difficult as the lids were stuck together, but his tears loosened the matter, and he was able to gaze at his persecutors. There were too many to fight, he could see that much, although he could not focus on the shadows well enough to identify them. They apparently came to some decision, as he saw one of the smaller shadows approach, the glint of a hypodermic in its slender hands. Instinctively, he tried to squirm away, but several of the larger figures pressed him flat to the cot, holding him down while he was injected.

Hands again, rolling him onto his stomach. Sudden chill as the covers were pulled back. The sharp scent of alcohol. Cold against his back, making him gasp, instantly changing into a rushing warmth. Broad hands pressing and rubbing. Avon went limp. He was so tired, so depressed, sick and confused. It didn't matter what they did to him. He had failed to save Blake. His breath came in soft, hiccupping sobs as he exhausted himself with weeping, and fell asleep like a heartbroken child surrendering to his misery.

 

He woke again, much later. At least it felt like much later. The room was dimly lit, and quiet. He felt slightly stronger, strong enough to have the sense to lie quietly, eyes barely slitted open, without alerting his guards. He analyzed what his drug-distorted senses were telling him. The clean, crisp scent of antiseptics, and the subdued clicks and hums of equipment indicated he was in some sort of medical unit. The subliminal vibration and faint back-of-the-throat bite of heated metal and plastics told him he was on a space vessel, in flight. To where? Earth, for a show trial? Space Command Headquarters, for Servalan to flaunt her prize? Or simply a quiet visit to one of the hidden mutoid-factories? It was all abstract curiosity, of course. He was simply waiting to die, to join Blake in the only way left to him.

An ugly thought struck him. Blake wouldn't want him to give up. Blake had never given up himself. If Blake were here he would give Avon that mild, quizzical look that said, 'I know you don't like it, but you're going to do what I want, aren't you?' And he would. He would do whatever Blake demanded, now no less than when Blake was alive. He bit back a sigh of resignation, and concentrated on getting his clumsy body out of the cot. He swayed, leaned against the wall, and put on a robe he found lying folded over the arm of a chair. He was shivering so hard his teeth clattered. Hard to sneak up on someone while accompanied by castanets. Weapons. He needed something. There were locked cabinets, but he hadn't Vila's skills, or tools. He kept searching until he found a set of unlocked drawers. Tweezers, sterile bandages, ointments, massage oils, swabs... useless. Wait. There, under a packet of sutures. A scalpel. It was thin-bladed, razor-sharp. It wouldn't be much use as a stabbing weapon, but for slitting throats, it would be perfect. He was tempted to use it on himself, but Blake's ghost wouldn't approve. He wrapped a length of gauze about the handle of the scalpel to give a better grip. Now he was ready.

He wavered, then steadied once more. There was only one door, which made his next decision easy. He palmed the door control, and found himself looking into yet another dim chamber. He was not alone, he realized, listening to the soft, burring snores coming from a cot placed against the the door on the far side of the room. It must lead to a main corridor. The guard should have stayed awake. Or at least left Avon clear passage. He didn't particularly like the idea of slaughtering a sleeping man, but he'd done worse in Blake's campaign. Bare feet cold against the metal deck, he moved to the head of the cot. It was even darker in here than in the inner chamber, but he could make out the outline of a man's head against the pillow. The man filled the cot. In a fair fight, Avon wouldn't stand a chance. Abruptly, Avon reached forward, and slashed where the throat must be. He realized his mistake too late. The man was heavily bearded, and the scalpel tangled in the dense hair and snapped with a high ringing note before it had done more than make a superficial injury. 

"What the hell?" The man woke shouting. He had a deep, rich voice, resonant and attractive despite his startlement. "Kerr?"

Avon screamed and fell to his knees, dropping the remains of the scalpel. Bare feet padded, there was a click and the lights came on. "Stop it, Kerr." The same wonderful, impossible voice. Avon continued to scream, sucking in breath for one yell after another. "Damn it, Kerr!" Powerful hands shook Avon's shoulders hard, snapping him out of hysteria.

"You're dead," Avon shouted, " Dead."

"No, I'm not," Blake replied. Blake was angry, and shook Avon again. "What the bloody hell do you think you're about, man?" Blake took one hand off Avon and felt his neck. He drew his hand back and stared at the reddened fingertips in astonishment. "You could have killed me, you little idiot." 

The corridor door opened, and the cot was shoved back by a rush of people. Avon blinked in the harsh light. "No," he wailed, covering his eyes with his hands. "You're dead. You're all dead."

"Slap him," came one cool, practical voice.

"No, Soolin, Blake should kiss him," retorted another, lighter, voice.

"Dayna, this isn't funny," Blake replied. He wrapped his arms around Avon. "He's hallucinating, I think. He tried to kill me," the sheer surprise in Blake's voice made Avon weep. Even now, Blake didn't believe Avon would ever hurt him.

"I'll get a tranquillizer." Avon jerked his head up. Gan, too? He shivered, eyes wide in terror, as the big man approached with a hypodermic. "It's all right, Kerr," Gan said. "Hold him still, Blake."

"Don't hurt him!" That from Vila. Vila must have forgiven him for Malodaar. But then, Vila always forgave him. It was a pity he hadn't fallen in love with Vila. Vila was as straight as Blake, but at least he wasn't a total innocent.

"Get him back to bed." Cally, too? Avon barely noticed the sting of the injection. "Let me look at you, Blake," Cally said.

"It's only a scratch," Blake replied, grunting as he got up, pulling Avon's limp body along with him, Avon's rubbery legs only half supporting him. "I'm sorry I woke all of you up. Who's on watch, anyway?"

"Tarrant and Jenna," Gan answered. He reached out to take Avon, but Avon clung to Blake, and Gan grinned. "I guess he's getting back to normal."

Blake chuckled, rumpled Avon's hair, and gave him a kiss. A real kiss. Not a fraternal peck, nor a comradely salute. Avon moaned, and pressed himself against Blake, as best he could with the drug turning his knees to water. / It's all right, Kerr. / Avon nearly fainted. That was Blake's voice, in his mind.

Blake frowned at Avon's look of panic. "He's still out of it, Cally," he said.

Cally reached up to feel Avon's forehead. "The fever should be breaking soon." She shook her head. "I don't know if we were wise to take him from Earth. These Terrans are such delicate creatures." Avon stared at her. These Terrans? What was Blake, then? What were all the others, who stood around solemnly nodding?

"I couldn't leave him," Blake answered simply. "I love him." He gazed fondly down at Avon. "I fell in love that first day of the academy, at the familiarization lectures."

Cally sighed. "Yes, I know, Blake," she said, smiling. "With all of Kaarn to choose from, why did you wait to fall in love on Earth?"

"Because I knew my family loved me enough to let me find my soul-mate." Blake smiled back at Cally. "No matter how long it took."

Vila yawned. "Well, I hope it doesn't take too much longer for him to get better. I need my beauty rest." 

"Too true," Dayna said, punching Vila lightly in the arm. He grinned and mock-ducked.

"He should be recovering tomorrow," Cally said. "The Terran Ague is vulgarly called the 'Three-Day Sweats' and this is the third day." She touched Blake lightly on the arm. "Perhaps you should let someone else sit with him for a while."

"Not yet. Not while he's still confused."

"I'll stay with them, shall I?" Gan offered. He chuckled. "He's little, but he's mean."

Avon burrowed deeper into Blake's chest. He didn't understand any of this, least of all the general attitude toward him. No one was afraid of him, or wary of him, or even decently respectful, not even that great lump, Gan. What was worse was the lack of resentment in himself, as if he had accepted a second-class status. But it all paled into insignificance besides Blake holding him, cherishing him, admitting love in front of everyone. He was afraid to question anything, lest he lose this wonderful dream, this dying fantasy, this drugged, programmed hallucination- whatever it was, it gave him Blake.

Blake leaned down, and picked Avon up. Avon's arms went around Blake's neck. He knew he looked ridiculous, and he didn't care. No one laughed, which was a small mercy. "Yes, thank you, Gan. Good night," Blake said, firmly, dismissing the others.

Avon shut his eyes, and enjoyed the sensation of being held in Blake's powerful arms, of being rocked by Blake's strides as they returned to the inner room. He was so frightened of waking.

"Gan, would you turn up the lights?"

"Right, Blake."

Even through his closed lids, Avon saw the light. He squinted his eyes shut even harder, his arms death-locked on Blake's neck.

Blake coughed and said, "Kerr. Kerr, will you let go for a minute?"

"No," Avon muttered, wriggling closer, trying to merge with Blake. He encountered warm stickiness, and recoiled. "Blake, are you all right?" he asked, easing his grip.

"I think so. Of course, I haven't had a chance to look." Blake deposited Avon on his feet, wrapped an arm around Avon's waist, and turned him around. "Let's see."

Avon stared into a mirror. He was standing next to Blake. Blake was bearded, as he'd been on Terminal and on Gauda Prime, but Blake was young, young and unscarred. He was tall, and strongly built, without the extra weight Blake had given up trying to lose. His hair was the tousled, living brown of a golden bear's pelt, crisply curled, and entirely ungrayed. The few lines on his face were laughter lines. This was not the man who'd died in his arms. 

And Avon was not the man who'd held him. There was no gray in his own hair, no trace of the shock-white streak running along the crown of his head, no scar from the suicide attempt. His hair was chestnut dark, and glossy, coming down over his forehead in a fringe he barely remembered having once had. He tilted his head. His ears were unpierced. He was also young and unlined, a man in his prime, before dissolution and disasters tarnished the glow of callow vanity. Avon's eyes rolled up in his head, and his knees buckled. He felt Blake pick him up once more. 

"I guess you've had enough excitement for one night," Blake murmured, and carried him over to the cot that Gan had already stripped and remade with fresh sheets. He sat Avon down on the edge of the cot, peeled the robe off Avon's still trembling shoulders and pressed him back into the bedding. "Stay!" he admonished, smiling.

As if Avon could do anything but obey. He lay there, fighting to stay awake- or not to wake up- whichever it was, and watched as Gan treated Blake's cuts. Avon was nauseated, thinking how close he'd come to killing Blake. Blake thanked Gan, then went to the side of Avon's cot, his calm, understanding eyes reaching into Avon's soul. "It's all right, Kerr. Really. Go to sleep. You'll be better in the morning."

"I... I don't understand," Avon said, weakly, picking at the sheets nervously. "I don't want to sleep."

"But you need to," Blake replied. He pulled over a monitor on its stand, and turned it on. He frowned. "You're over-stressed. You'll have a relapse if you don't rest." He looked at Gan. "Maybe a sedative."

"NO!" Avon reached out to Blake, remembered Blake was dead, and curled up under the covers, trembling again. His nerves were shot to hell. He was also sick at his stomach, and the room was wavering. "Please. Don't."  
Blake sighed. "Shall I read you a story, then?" Blake stood, and fetched a heavy black book from a shelf, then dragged a chair over to the bed. "That always puts you to sleep."

Avon swallowed. This was stranger and stranger. "Does it?" he asked.

"You don't remember? We used to take turns reading our assignments." Blake chuckled. "You had a theory that the brain retained spoken words better than the written word. It helped me get my engineering degree, but you kept falling asleep on me."

"Well, now, the history of bridges and aqueducts is not the most enthralling subject," Avon said, before realizing that he did remember that: Blake sitting beside him on a cramped bed in an untidy room littered with books, tools and all the paraphernalia of university students, Blake, grinning as he drank dark honey-beer and ate that horrible melted cheese on bread that he made on the burner they weren't supposed to have in the dorm, Blake sharing his holidays with Avon in a shabby little tent in a nature preserve, rather than returning to his home- to Kaarn - with the other Auron students. Avon felt the blood rush from his head, and he fought back the faintness.

"Kerr?"

"Yes," Avon whispered. He blinked, trying to reconcile the two sets of memories- there was the poor, but brilliant, student falling in love with the exotically handsome alien versus the brilliant and wealthy thief falling in love with the handsome and brave rebel leader. It had been so exciting, with all the glamorous women, and a cast of thousands fighting a tragically foredoomed battle for galactic justice and freedom. It was so poetic, and so irresistably romantic, with outrageous haircuts, jewelry, and expensive costumes, computers that were beyond anything Avon dreamed, and epic space journeys to all the places a planetbound Earthman longed to visit, but knew he'd never see. And he, Avon, was bold, and brave, and so macho women wilted from his merest kiss, a tragic figure to rival Hamlet, or Romeo.

Reality sank in as he remembered. Earth was a nice, quiet backwater, distinguished by its quaint customs, and its love of history, of the time long centuries ago when Earth was the center, the ruler of all. Today, Earth was little and unimportant, treated kindly by its colonies, now grown independent. Earth was amusing to the alien worlds, who sent tourists and scholars to help Earth's economy. But no one respected Earth, or its citizens. 

When he met Blake- when Blake seduced him- he was flattered, and incredibly eager to please, but he hadn't dared to believe Blake meant anything serious by it. Why should Blake care about a nameless, penniless nobody- a computer analyst who only managed to get in to university by way of a chess scholarship left by some geek who'd liked the name 'Kerr'? But Blake had been kind, and Avon was too unused to kindness to resist. Orphaned and unloved, teased and called ugly and cold, his self-image made him doubt Blake's sincerity when Blake called him beautiful, when Blake laughed at Avon's sarcasms, when Blake told him he was loved. He didn't believe the first time Blake proposed, or the second, or the third. But the fourth time, when Blake had called his head of family from Kaarn and had her ask for Avon's bond, he had to believe it. Cally wouldn't lie, no Auron head of family ever lied. They couldn't. They held their clans together by strength, and love, and honesty. So when Cally offered, Avon had accepted. 

Avon had been afraid to leave Earth. Blake promised he would be happy on Kaarn, would have opportunities to work with the latest computers, would be accepted by the family, by the community. Blake had said a great deal, but it all sounded too good to be true. Avon worried himself to a ragged edge that last semester. Between studying and getting all his inoculations and papers in order for emigration, he hadn't had much time for eating or sleeping. The graduation ceremonies went by in a daze. The certificates, the scrolls of merit, the various academic awards and honors were all meaningless. He did recall the entire hall standing to cheer Blake's Valedictorian speech, but he couldn't remember a word of the speech itself, just the rolling thunder of Blake's voice, and the way his heart was in his throat as he looked up at Blake on the podium. 

It should have helped that Blake's family were coming for them in their own ship. Avon needn't be embarrassed by his inability to pay for passage on one of the star-liners or his lack of the social graces that such a ship demanded of all its passengers. Only this meant he had no one of his own kind. Would Blake suddenly see Avon in a different light, surrounded by his own well-adjusted, calm, sincere, incredibly honest people? Avon had learned to steal at an early age, and it still seemed quite reasonable at times. He didn't lie, but he was quite adept at misleading with half-truths. How long could he live up to their standards? And he couldn't talk to Blake mind-to-mind, only hear him. Didn't that make him a cripple among the Aurons. A mute, a thief, poor, provincial, ill-mannered, and not particularly good-looking, despite Blake's affectionate nighttime whisperings. 

Avon wouldn't have married Blake, if it wasn't for one, simple, overriding factor. He loved Blake. He loved Blake so much no humiliation was too much to be borne. He was overly sensitive to insult, he knew, but he would take anything that Blake's world would dish out, if only he could have Blake. Even if Blake tired of him, of the novelty of his little Earth mate, he would still love Blake.

So Avon had boarded the Kaarn ship, and met a select group of Blake's relatives. The women were all stunningly gorgeous, clever and bold, and the men either tremendously strong, handsome, witty, talented or combinations of the above- and every one of them taller than him. He was the stunted mongrel in the litter, the one for the drowning bucket.

"Kerr?" Blake's voice was rising now, in concern. He was close, sitting on the bed and holding Avon against his chest, rocking him. "Don't feel that way," Blake said, softly. He stroked Avon's face. "I love you and I know you deserve my love. You are special. You are unique. And you are my only love."

"What happened?" Avon asked.

"You've been ill. All Terrans become sick the first time they go into space. You were run-down, so it hit you harder than usual. But you're getting better now."

"I... Blake, what's the name of this ship?"

Blake looked puzzled, but he replied, "The Harmony. Don't you remember?"

Avon shook his head. "Have you ever heard of a ship called Hellhound ?"

"Not an Auron ship, certainly." Blake rubbed Avon's shoulders for a moment. "Does it matter?"

"I think so."

Blake sighed, and simply held Avon for a long moment, while Gan looked on with concern. 

"It sounds familiar," Blake finally said. "But I'm sure we haven't got a ship by that name. Maybe it's a Terran ship?"

"Wait, Blake," Gan said, excited. "I've heard of the Hellhound." He picked up the black book and thumbed rapidly through its pages. "Here it is. It was a rebel ship, back in the Dark Time, just before the old Federation fell."

"Let me see that," Avon demanded. Gan handed him the book. It was a massive tome. He remembered it now. It had been his last purchase at the student's used book store on campus. The Rise and Fall of the Federation: all twenty or thirty or however many volumes it was, condensed into one. The authors had spent a lifetime meticulously researching a bygone era of high tragedy. He leafed to the section near the end, where the heroes died together, just before their Cause defeated the evil empire. 'Then Chrane's great heart stopped, and Trasil died, too.' Avon snapped the book together and flung it off the bed, gilt-edged pages tearing from the great weight. "Only a story," he cried, "it never happened, it was only a story."

"That's right, Kerr," Blake said, holding him tightly. "It was only a story."

Avon snuffled, sighed, and said, "I don't think I care for tragedies."

"Ah, love." Blake pressed a kiss into Avon's hair. "Shall I tell you a riddle, then? One Vila told me only this morning."

Avon gave Blake a suspicious look. He hadn't known Vila long, but was already wary of the man's warped sense of humor. "I'm not sure. Does it involve elephants, or chickens, or the words 'knock, knock'?"

Blake chuckled. "No."

"All right, then, go ahead. I've braced myself."

"What has four legs, four arms, two heads, and only one heart."

"Some peculiar Kaarn fauna, no doubt. One which I've no interest in meeting."

"No." Blake grinned at Avon. "Us."

Avon grimaced. "And that was the best Vila could do?"

"No, actually, but the others were all dirty."

Avon rolled his eyes. "In that case, whisper them. I wouldn't want to shock Gan." He turned his head, shut his eyes, and fell asleep against Blake's chest.

Blake smiled at Gan. Gan chuckled, and withdrew to the outer room. He was glad Avon was feeling better. They would be home in a week for the wedding, a lovely traditional one. He sighed with pleasure. Gan loved white weddings.


End file.
